Paradise Found
by Orlissa
Summary: Continuation to Variations to Distraction - Once those two weeks are over, Grant fulfills his promise and takes Skye away for the weekend. My submission for Round 2 of the Skyeward Smut Fest.
**A/N:** You asked for it, now you are getting it – Skye and Grant on an island, all alone, after the two weeks of Variations for Distraction is over. My second submission for the Skyeward Smut Fest.
 **Rated:** M  
 **Word Count:** 2800 **  
Disclaimer:** [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

* * *

 **Paradise Found**

He lies awake, naked on the sheets, a certain sated tiredness in his limbs, but too alert to sleep. He is listening, hearing everything, the outside world softly filtered through the mosquito net – the gentle rumble of the waves, a bird's call in the distance, and, so much closer, her breathing.

The room is bathed in velvety darkness, broken only by the moonlight, so dark he can just make out the roundness of her shoulder right in front of him. Her hair is fanned out under her head she sleeps, deep and undisturbed, just as naked as he is. It would be foolish to hide under sheets anyway – the night is warm, balmy, and, not the least, he'd hate to have her hidden from the view (he wants her to be the first thing he sees in the morning as the sun rises, uncovered, inviting). Especially here, where there is nothing, no-one to hide from.

* * *

He slid into her bunk as soon as he could, uninvited, but not unwelcome – not at all –, seeking out her lips with a need that had been unknown to him before.

The last two weeks had been Hell – one that, partially, he had damned himself to willingly –, and although he hadn't made a show of his suffering like she did, it was difficult from him as well. Denying himself what had become his nectar and ambrosia? It was the worst torture he had ever endured.

But here she was again in his arms, willing and pliant, with a promise that their relationship would not face prosecution, and that made him believe that it was all worth it.

He just kept kissing her for a while, sitting on the edge of her bed, her face in his hands, nipping at her lips, drawing small, keening noises from her.

"So… where do you want to go?" he asked then, between kisses, never pulling away from her.

"What?" she blinked (he could feel her lashes flutter against his cheeks).

He grinned against her lips.

"I did promise you," he kissed her, licking into her mouth, "a weekend away. So?"

She chuckled and put her arms around his neck, climbing into his lap.

"Anywhere," she said, open mouth seeking his, hot breaths mingling. "To the end of the world. Where nobody can bother us." She claimed his mouth then, grinding her hips against him.

"So…" he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes when she broke away from a second, "no wifi and reception?"

She froze right away.

"Do that, and I'm stopping right now."

He chuckled, then, with a swift move, he changed their position, so she was lying on her back, with him hovering over her. "Duly noted."

* * *

So he brought her here – to a series of bungalows right on the beach; civilization still within reach, but the closest neighbor over a hundred feet away. Here, where the sound of the waves lulled them to sleep at night, and the sight of the rising sun over the vast ocean woke them, where the scents of the palm trees sneaked within the walls, where the hot, humid air made the thought of wearing heavy clothes – or any clothes, for that matter – nearly unbearable.

This was exactly what they needed – even if they only had it for a little over forty-eight hours.

She only had a small bag with her – some basic toiletries, a towel, some clothes (nothing else than some underwear, a bikini, maybe a shirt and a sundress – she obviously hadn't intended to wear much clothes during the weekend), and her tablet and phone (the laptop graciously left on the Bus) –, and she dropped that on the floor, carelessly, the moment she stepped into their bungalow. Her eyes round with awe, she hurried across the room and threw open the double door leading to the small terrace right over the water. He followed her with much more measured steps.

"Wow," she said, hands resting on the railing as she looked at the ocean. "This is truly amazing."

"I told you so." (He couldn't help being a little smug about it.) He stepped right behind her and swept her hair to the side, his nose ghosting about her neck as he put his hands on her shoulders, then slowly let them drop, tracing the contours of her arms. He could feel the goosebumps on her skin, and he was just about to press a kiss to her neck, but then – she fluttered away.

"I'm already loving this place," she declared, skipping to the corner of the terrace and sitting down onto the hammock hanging there. "It has a…" she kicked off her sandals and looked at him, licking her lower lip, "… _character_."

He smirked, answer on his lips as he stepped to her once again, but she was on her feet in the next moment, already on her way back into the bungalow. He suppressed a slightly annoyed groan, and followed her inside.

She was lounging on the bed, barefoot now, skirt hiked to her hips, top buttons of her dress undone (it was a delicious sight). Her head almost hanging off the edge of the bed she looked at him and grinned.

"Hi there."

Kicking off his own shoes and pulling off his shirt as he went, he made his way to the bed.

"Hello yourself," he said as he sat down, already reaching for her – only she rolled away, out of touch. Feeling almost hurt by her evasion, he looked at her – and saw the mischievous glint in her eyes right away.

"It sucks, doesn't it?" she asked, eyes locked with his, lying on her side, head propped up in her hand. "Longing for something – a forbidden fruit – that is always there, and yet beyond touch? It's pure torture, right?"

He got it at once.

"This is payback," he said, not asked, a hand inching towards her as he kneeled on the bed. "For those two weeks."

She swapped that hand away.

"You bet."

He crawled closer to her, slowly, as if she was a wild animal, easily scared.

"And what can I do to placate you?" He had his right hand on her knee by then, fingertips slowly sliding upwards. He didn't fail to notice that her breathing turned a little labored right away.

"I don't know," she pondered as a little sigh escaped her lips. "Maybe you could prove me that it would worth to… _ah_ … let you in."

"That I can do." His hand disappeared beneath the soft, white, gauzy material of her skirt.

"Less talking, more–" Her sentence ended with a squeal as he grabbed her legs and, with one swift, precise move, pulled her towards himself, so she was now lying on her back, her legs opened wide, with him kneeling between them.

"That I can do," he repeated, climbing over her, his elbows resting on the mattress next to her head.

She didn't lose her wits, at least not yet; she just grinned up at him, cheekily, heavy lashes fluttering invitingly. "Then less talking and more doing," she echoed.

And he complied.

He kissed her on the mouth first, maybe just to shut her up, maybe just to make her lose her mind, then made his way down, down her neck, to her collarbone, her sternum, between her breasts, easing open the buttons of her dress as he went, down and down, until all of them were undone, and he could open the garment, so all he could see was velvety olive skin. Low moans and soft, keening noises escaping her lips now, he hooked his fingers into the waistband on her underwear, and pulled it down, torturously slow, making sure that his hands brushed along her thighs and calves all the way down, just to drive her crazy.

Once her panties were off and tossed to the floor, he took one of her legs and lifted it over his shoulder, opening her up even more to him.

She was completely shaved smooth – no doubt preparing for the occasion –, her core already glistening with wetness. Almost mesmerized, he lifted a hand to her center and brushed a finger along it, dipping a single digit into her experimentally.

She moaned loudly and he grinned.

"It's great, not having to worry about somebody overhearing us, isn't it?"

She only groaned in response, her hand sneaking down to touch herself, but he was faster – he leaned in and put his mouth on her.

She tasted exquisite, as always, and he licked her with abandon, sucking on her clit and tongue slipping into her core, teasing her, working her up as she became louder and louder (he loved it when she didn't hold back) and she started rocking her hips and trashing so much that he had to hold her down.

Her hands on his head, fingers slipping into his hair, urging him, wanting more, _needing more_ , he kept going, working on her clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue and lapping at it and sucking it between his lips. When he could feel that she was nearing the peak, he slipped two fingers into her, curling his digits inside of her to massage her walls that were getting tenser and tenser, pulling him in and trapping him inside, until she finally snapped – her spine rising from the bed she went rigid, his name on her lips. Her walls contracted around his fingers wildly, and he kept moving them and kept kissing her as she rode her orgasm out, thrashing and moaning, until her body finally stilled, her muscles only spasming sporadically, her breathing calming down, her rapid pulse slowing down.

He eased her thigh from his shoulder and set it down on the sheets, then, as she lay there, barely moving, dress wrinkled under her, a hand on her bare chest as it kept rising and falling with heavy breaths, he laid his head on her belly, her juices still dripping from his chin, pressed a kiss just under her navel, and, unable to keep the smug grin from his face, he asked, "Was that enough proof, or do you need more?"

* * *

The sun was setting, making the shadows grow longer and bathing everything in a soft, reddish glow.

He had left the bed, with her in it, behind, but only for a short while – just so long to step to the counter on the other side of the bungalow, where a bowl of fruit, a welcome gift from the management, stood, and slice up some for them to eat. Once finished, he popped a piece of grape into his mouth, took the bowl into his hands and, in his naked glory, turned back to the bed.

She lay there, on her back, propped up on pillows, waiting and looking at him with half a smile on her lips and lust in her eyes, body unclothed, but a hand almost demurely in front of her, so much like Olympia posing for Manet.

"Are you going to feed me now?" she asked, teasing, as he climbed back to the bed and set the bowl between them.

"Something like that," he replied, then took a piece of pineapple between his fingers and offered it to her. She leaned closer to him and bit into the fruit, a single drop of juice sliding down her chin. "There's a certain charm to it," he said as he watched her swallow the fruit.

"You might be right." She took the rest of the slice from him and held it out to him, but before he could have bit into it, she ran the piece along his neck, and then licked up the sweet tartness the pineapple left on his skin, raising goosebumps. "But I like it this way better," she said and ran her tongue along his neck again.

"I'm not going to argue with you over that." He took her wrist and guided her hand to his mouth. He ate what remained of the piece, pulling her fingers into his mouth along with it, licking the last traces of the juice from them. She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. She put her other hand on his chest, pushing him back a little and kissed him, the ends of her long hair brushing against his skin.

"You know," she said when she leaned back after a long moment of her lips caressing his, lifting a piece of mango from the bowl, "this whole place makes me feel like kinda _Blue Lagoon_ -y." She brought the piece of fruit close to his mouth, but pulled it away teasingly once he moved to take it.

"What?" he asked, a little confused.

"Oh," she said, holding the mango to him once again, and this time letting him to take it. "Sometimes I forget how immune to pop culture you are," she smirked and took a grape from the bowl, popping it into her mouth. "It's a movie, an old one," she explained to him, bringing her hand to his elbow and sliding her fingertips to his shoulder. "It's about two kids, a boy and a girl… They are shipwrecked on a beautiful island… all white sand and blue water… but then their guardian dies…" Her hand was now at the top of his sternum, moving down between his pecs slowly. "So they have to survive on their own… grow up…" She reached his stomach, his muscles contracting under her touch. "Explore each other's bodies…" Her fingers lightly curled around his member, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Learn to love."

He inhaled sharply as she kept massaging him, growing bolder, making him harden.

"You are actually making me want to watch this movie," he said softly as she leaned for a kiss again.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

"It's really not that good," she told him, then kissed him, sweet, slow, teasing. "Kind of boring. Syrupy. You wouldn't like it." Placing his hands on her waist, he pulled her towards him, guiding her until she was right above him, her legs bracketing his hips. "But it's nice to imagine ourselves in their place," she said, the sentence ending with a soft moan as his hand found her breast, squeezing the soft mound and pinching the nipple between his fingers. Arching her back, she threw her head back, pushing against his palm. "As far as the sex goes."

"That's for sure," he agreed, his hand wandering down to between her legs, his fingers slipping between her lips making sure she was wet and ready. "Now come here."

With his other hand on the back of her neck he pulled her down to him so that their lips met again, just as she took him – now achingly hard – into her hand once more, held him steady and sank down onto him, her eager body gladly welcoming him as he slid into her slowly, stretching and filling her in the most amazing way.

She stilled only for a moment once she took all of him inside of her, then licked her lips – always a tease –, and started moving, rising only a little at first before sliding back down, searching for the best angle, sighing and moaning as he hit a sweet spot inside of her, encouraging her to go faster, deeper. And he followed her, answering thrust with thrust, moan with moan, hands everywhere, helping her, guiding her as they made love slowly, savoring every moment, feeling each other's bodies vibrate and tremble with every thrust and caress and kiss and moan and sigh, until they reached the glorious end just as the sun dipped below the horizon over the ocean.

* * *

That was hours ago now.

They have emptied the bowl and closed the terrace door since, and then made love again, just because they could, just because they were two young lovers on a beautiful island, just exploring who they are with each other.

She fell asleep a while ago – tired and sated, a smile on her lips as she curled up on top of the sheets. He tried to rest too, but sleep has been eluding him (but why sleep when being awake feels so much like dreaming?). So now he just lies next to her, listening to the rumble of the waves and the birdcalls in the distance, and basking in her nearness, resting an arm on the inward curve of her waist in the dim moonlight.

She is holding his hand in her sleep.

He knows that in less than forty hours this Paradise will end and they'll have to return to the real world, full of Kevlar and bullets and secrets, but until then…

…Until then he is going to stretch every single second of this.


End file.
